Yikes

 Do you like books that scare the living you-know-what out of you?  Don't reach for Stephen King's latest yarn, grab Bill Bryson's new volume titled The Body.  It's 383 pages devoted to the individual cells and juices and bones and muscles and endless other fibers that are wrapped up in the skin we love to touch. The research Bryson has done finding out what makes all these parts tick and the  million-plus horrendous things that can go wrong with our creator's masterpiece will keep you flipping the pages and screaming, "No, no, no."

Take the human heart, the super-star performer in this human comedy.  It is not shaped like a valentine or hung over there where you put your hand when the flag goes by.  It's four muscle-wrapped pouches that weigh about a pound and attach in the middle of your chest. Two of them power blood out through the tube network designed to bring oxygen to individual parts and two of which receive the used blood for reconditioning for the next  round.

Here is how I envision the birthing room in LaGrande, Oregon, occupied by Eunice Landers on the 4th day of February, 1930.  EL to her doctor: "I want to make certain Billy has your premium quality heart because it will have to beat about every second, 24 hours a day without missing a beat for probably 3.5 billion times during his life and you'll agree that is a lot of freaking beating."

What is more interesting than reading about our favorite subject; ourselves?  I won't spoil the ending of the book for you but I will tell you this: if you sense your number of heart beats is anywhere close to 3.4999999 billion, go ahead and pig out on the bacon and cheese omelette topped off by a gallon of ice cream. And cancel your newspaper.